The arena roared long before the games even began.
Guild banners fluttered from every pillar, bright silks snapping in the wind while crowds packed the stone stands. Warriors, nobles, merchants, and gamblers leaned forward with shining eyes. This was not just sport. This was reputation. Rank. Future contracts.
And today—
—for once—
Eira's guild had made it in.
Not by glory.
Not by fame.
By the new rules.
"They expanded entry slots this year," one of his guildmates muttered, adjusting his gloves. "Otherwise we wouldn't even be standing here."
Another sighed. "We've lost every year."
A laugh cut in.
Sharp. Mocking.
"Well, well," drawled Vesa's cousin from across the staging ground, surrounded by polished teammates. "The charity entrants made it."
Snickers followed him.
Eira didn't react, but his guildmates stiffened.
The cousin smirked wider. "Try not to embarrass the arena too badly. Though honestly, losing quickly might be the most impressive thing you've ever done."
Vesa, standing nearby, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ignore him."
Eira tilted his head slightly. "He always like this?"
"Yes," Vesa sighed. "Unfortunately."
---
Game One — The Hunt
A horn sounded.
Illusion gates opened.
Contestants were released into a shifting forest arena filled with magical beasts created from mana constructs. Points were awarded for capture, not kill.
Eira stepped forward—
—and was immediately stopped.
"Reserve rotation," the judge said flatly. "You sit this round."
His guildmates exchanged glances.
"Why him?" one protested. "He's our best tracker."
"Rules," the judge replied.
Across the field, Vesa's cousin smirked.
The hunt began.
Despite clumsy teamwork and near misses, Eira's guild somehow scraped enough captures to qualify mid-tier.
Not impressive.
But not last.
---
Game Two — Civil Rescue
This round tested reaction speed.
Illusion civilians appeared in danger scenarios: collapsing towers, monster ambushes, magical fires. Teams had to rescue as many as possible without harming them.
Eira stepped forward again.
Again—
"Reserve."
His brows lifted.
Behind the judges' stand, someone whispered something to an official. A coin pouch changed hands.
Eira noticed.
He said nothing.
His team struggled but pushed through with stubborn effort, barely ranking high enough to stay in the competition.
Sweat. Bruises. Pride.
They refused to fall.
---
Game Three — Assassin Mode
The arena darkened.
Each team received one target and one hunter. Eliminate your target. Protect your own.
Finally—
Eira entered.
The moment the bell rang, he vanished.
Not flashy.
Not loud.
Gone.
Seconds later, their assigned target's marker shattered.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Their hunter never even saw him move.
His teammates stared.
"…Remind me why we benched him?" one whispered.
---
Game Four — Strategy Board
A war table appeared in the center arena, glowing with a magical terrain map. Teams commanded illusion armies in real time.
This time Eira was allowed.
He watched silently as others argued tactics.
Then he quietly said, "Left flank will collapse in forty seconds."
They ignored him.
Forty seconds later—
Left flank collapsed.
They stared at him.
"…Say that again?" one asked slowly.
Under Eira's direction, they salvaged the battle into a draw instead of a loss.
Not victory.
But survival.
They advanced.
Barely.
---
Game Five — Final Luck Draw
A crystal sphere descended.
Inside floated numbered shards.
Each remaining contestant drew one.
Matching numbers fought.
Pure chance.
No planning.
No favoritism.
Just fate.
Eira reached in.
Pulled—
Seven.
Across the circle—
Lily held up hers.
Seven.
The crowd stirred.
"That'll be pretty," someone murmured.
---
In the Audience
High above, cloaked in shadow despite daylight—
Noctryx watched.
His attention had been fixed on Ark most of the tournament. Measuring posture. Mana flow. Instinct.
The prince was strong.
But predictable.
Then—
movement below caught his eye.
Silver hair.
Calm eyes.
Presence that didn't beg attention—
—but held it.
"…You," he murmured softly.
His gaze sharpened.
---
Back in the Arena
Eira stepped onto the platform.
Lily smiled gently. "Try not to go too easy on me."
"I won't," he said politely.
Bell rang.
She moved first—petal-light steps, magic blooming in soft arcs.
Elegant.
Precise.
Deadly.
Her vines lashed.
Eira leaned aside.
Not fast.
Not dramatic.
Just enough.
She pressed harder, spells blooming like flowers of light.
He stepped through them.
Not resisting.
Understanding.
Watching.
Learning.
Then—
whoosh
A blur of white burst from the sidelines.
The Snow Dragon.
It skidded across the arena floor, tail wagging proudly—
—and dropped Eira's sword into his hand.
The crowd gasped.
Lily blinked.
Eira sighed softly. "…You weren't supposed to come."
The dragon chirped.
---
Above—
Noctryx leaned forward.
Interest ignited.
"…A divine beast," he whispered. "And it obeys him."
The shadows at his feet trembled.
---
Below—
Eira lifted the blade.
One step.
One turn.
One precise strike.
Lily's spell circle shattered.
Her weapon dropped.
Silence.
Judge raised his hand.
"Winner — Eira."
The crowd erupted.
Not because it was flashy.
Because it was clean.
Perfect.
Undeniable.
---
Despite that victory—
points totaled.
Rankings finalized.
Third place.
Not champions.
Not legends.
But when the prize chest was handed over and coins clinked inside—
his guildmates grinned like children.
"We placed," one laughed breathlessly.
"We actually placed!"
Another clapped Eira's shoulder. "Next year we win."
Eira smiled faintly.
"Yeah," he said. "Next year."
---
High above—
Noctryx's eyes gleamed.
Not at Ark.
Not at the champions.
At Eira.
"…Found you."
The words vanished into shadow.